Chapter Nineteen
“All doors that keep the cowboy safe,
Must fall before his bride.
He must need that darling waif,
And choose no more to hide.”
Lyrics from the folk song “Crossroads Coyote”
“I really am sorry about this.” Clementine repeated for the hundredth time. “I feel just awful.”
“Don’t think nothin’ of it, darlin’. No harm done.”
“You’re really not angry?”
“‘Course not. I love weddings.”
“I now pronounce you man and wife.” Tony Beaver apparently took Clem’s apology and Bill’s cheery response as their vows. He slapped his hymnal closed, signaling the end of their three-minute ceremony. “You may kiss the bride. Thank you for choosing Six White Horse-Drawn Carriages for all your matrimonial needs. Standard gratuity is eighteen percent.”
Bill grinned himself a huge grin.
One of the many joys of living in Red River Valley was the ability to impulsively get married at 11:06 in the morning. No blood tests. No planning. No waiting. The city’s relaxed matrimonial rules were a godsend for coyotes eager to steal themselves a mate.
“Holy moly.” Clem whispered, as if the full ramifications of impromptu wedded bliss just hit her. “Oh Bill! I am so sorry! This is all my fault. Dinah was talking right over me, like she always does, and I got too assertive.”
“No need to get het up. It all worked out just fine.”
She ignored his jovial reassurance. “I only meant to push you some! Not bludgeon you to the altar! You should have stopped me.”
“Why would I do that?” Bill couldn’t have been more pleased with the results of the morning.
“I’ve always been too ambitious, when I want something.” She continued, apologetically. “And I was kind of still buzzed from the orgasm. And there were a lot of maybe-not-entirely rational thoughts in my head about infrastructure…”
He bent his head to brush his lips against Clem’s, sealing their new bond and stopping her flood of remorseful, confusing words. She gasped, her ruby lips opening beneath his, like it was instinctive to kiss him back.
Bill loved that.
The kiss wasn’t just for the sake of enjoyment, though. It was also a formality to finalize his claim. At the press of her lips, he felt the magic of the wedding ceremony seal tight, ensuring he was now a married man. Clem was too frazzled for him to deepen the kiss the way he wanted to, but that was okay. They had plenty of time. Til’ death do they part.
Besides, they were in a church and he was gonna be seemly. It was really a converted warehouse in the Recording District. It was decorated to look like a church, though, with a plywood altar and arrangements of slightly-dusty fake flowers. That was close enough to a solemn venue, so Bill controlled the desire pumping through him. He wanted things to be nice for Clem. As nice as he could make them, anyhow.
Clementine deserved a better wedding day, with her family, and a big cake, and her one-and-only True Love reciting formal vows beside her. Something like the fancy reception that duchess in Nottingham had been planning, before the castle blew up. Bill had been a hostage at the time, but even he knew that had been a real memorable shindig.
How many opportunities would Bill get to legally wed his dream-girl, though? He couldn’t give up his chance. Couldn’t give up Clem . It was wrong, but still he’d pushed ahead and stole some other man’s happily ever after.
He’d married Clementine Miner.
Bill’s uncharacteristic twinge of conscience was drowned out by the coyote’s triumphant howls inside of him. He’d gone all or nothin’ and come out on top. Dark, wild satisfaction filled him. Clem was legally his.
“You can pay for the ceremony on the way out.” Tony groused. The Kitchen’s dour waiter and aspiring drummer was their officially-licensed, part-time officiant. He worked at the twenty-four-hour wedding chapel Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturday afternoons, clearly resenting every minute of it. “It’ll cost extra, if you want a picture.”
“Oh, I think we want a picture.” Bill glanced at his shell-shocked bride. “Don’t you think we want a picture, darlin’?”
“Um… I guess?” The kiss seemed to have stunned her out of her rant. Clem swallowed. “Hank will probably like seeing a photo.”
“Sure he will!” Bill enthused. “Why, we can get copies for all your brothers, as a fun surprise.”
“I really should have worn a cuter outfit.” She looked down at herself, like she wasn’t quite certain how she’d gotten there. “Maybe bought a veil at the general store. I just wasn’t expecting everything to happen so fast.”
“You look stunning, just as you are. Prettiest bride I ever saw.” That skirt showcased her luscious ass like the work of art it truly was. Bill couldn’t imagine why she ever wore anything else.
Tony glowered. The beaver wasn’t bothering to hide his irritation that Bill had married a muse. His huge, flat tail tapped against the floor in irritation. “This does seem fast. I thought Clem was just your manager. How long have you two been dating?”
“Oh, we’ve never dated.” Clementine shook her head, so her blonde curls swayed. “We were getting to that step, I think? But then I proposed and Bill sorta had to say yes. It was all an accident.”
“Accidents are just opportunities in disguise.” Bill opined.
Tony squinted at Clem, ignoring that bit of greeting card wisdom. “How do you accidentally propose?”
“I’m not really sure…?” She made a perplexed face. “But it happened this morning. Later, we were walking to the racetrack --for Bill’s job interview-- and somehow we got lost. We found ourselves right outside of this wedding chapel.”
“Camp Town Racetrack is on the other side of town.” Tony argued.
“Another fortuitous accident, some would say.” Bill shrugged expansively. “But me? I believe that everything happens for a reason.” This particular reason being that he’d dragged Clem right to the front door of the chapel.
“Bill suggested we come inside, just to see about pricing and stuff. And the next thing I knew we were standing in front of you, saying ‘I do.’ …Or whatever it was we said.” Clem wrinkled her nose. “So poor Bill was rushed through our dating and our engagement.”
Tony still looked dubious.
“I don’t favor long engagements.” Bill told Clementine. “We were getting hitched either way, so it might as well be right now.”
Before she changed her mind.
Clem mulled that over, some color returning to her cheeks. “I suppose you’re right. Dinah will insist on seeing a marriage scroll, before she lets you on stage.”
Bill didn’t like her reducing their wedding into some job opportunity. It was a blessed and long-awaited event. He’d been plotting how to become her groom since the second she smiled at him. “This isn’t about playin’ The Kitchen.”
Tony’s mouth dropped open in sudden understanding. “Dinah’s going to put Bill on stage, because you got married?”
Clementine nodded. “It’s all so sudden for Bill. He needs time to adjust.”
“I don’t need time to adjust.” Bill assured her. “I never need a thing. And our marriage is not about Dinah.”
Tony flashed Bill a bitter scowl, his aspiring musicianship all in a tizzy. “I guess this is a damn sight easier than working hard or burning your creativity out with Hasten-2. Fiddly-i-o, you get a career handed to you on a silver platter! A muse and music connections, so long as you shackle yourself to Clementine.”
Clem winced.
Maybe she was recalling how Johnny used her for her magic. Maybe she was worried that Bill was just the same as that fuckwit. Maybe she was wondering if their transcendent wedding had been a mistake. Bill did not appreciate Tony undermining his holy union before he and Clem even reached their one-hour anniversary.
He fixed the beaver with a dangerous look. “You just upset my wife.” He said quietly.
“You’re the one who married her under false pretenses.”
“I married her because she’s my mate.”
Beside him, tension eased from Clem. She believed Bill’s pronouncement. Good. He liked her understanding the truth about their bond.
“Coyotes don’t have mates.” Tony argued.
“The ring on her finger says otherwise.” Bill had bought the most expensive one in the wedding chapel’s display case, courtesy of the money Desert Pete had reconsidered paying him. “Now, I suggest you apologize to her.”
“You can’t just steal some sweet, ditzy girl…”
“Apologize. Right fucking now .” Bill’s tone went so feral that even Clementine shot him a concerned look.
Tony was smart enough to obey, but anger still burned in his eyes. “Sorry, Clem. I didn’t mean anything by that. I just like you, is all. I want what’s best for you.”
Bill wondered if beating the living shit out of Tony would put a pall over their joyful ceremony. Probably yes, because Clem laid a restraining hand on Bill’s arm. Wisps of blue were rising from his skin, as his coyote surged forward, wanting to attack the man who’d wounded their mate.
“I’m feeling stressed in here.” Clementine proclaimed a little desperately.
Bill forgot about Tony. “You’re stressed? Are you going to faint?” He moved his arm to support her waist. “Did you take your medicine today?”
“You know that I did. And I’m not going to faint.” She directed him towards the lobby, like avoiding a fight had been her goal in mentioning her stress level. The lady did worry about Bill’s precious hands getting injured while committing homicide. “I’m just ready to go take that photo, now.”
Bill allowed her to distract him, because he wasn’t gonna let anything dampen his happiness. He’d figure out a way to get Tony later. In a quiet, indirect way.
And the wedding picture turned out real nice, if he did say so himself.
After they left the Six White Horse-Drawn Carriages Wedding Chapel, Bill bought Clementine some tacos for lunch, before they made the long walk to the racetrack. It wasn’t the fancy reception a new bride dreamed of, but she didn’t seem to mind.
She assured him her new boots were very comfortable. Just heavy.
He assured her they were good protection.
She looked cute as a button in them, too. Bill enjoyed the way the little silver spurs jingled, as she walked beside him. He considered the high-quality leather footwear money well spent. Whatever she needed, he’d get for her.
Which is why he had to go on this job interview.
As much as Bill liked horses, he didn’t yearn to work at Camp Town Racetrack. He’d much rather play guitar for a living. He’d always loved music, even though his mother’s rants about his shiftless, singing coyote father still rang in his head. Sal Pecos had hated it when he sang. Hated to even hear his voice. The beatings and shouts had made Bill stop singing altogether and he only played the guitar for his own amusement.
Then a sunny little muse came along and made a musical career a real possibility for Bill. Clem believed in him. She’d given him access to her magic and he wanted to prove he was worthy of her faith. He’d anticipated having to fake musical inspiration.
Instead, he felt musical inspiration. For real.
In his head, pieces of My One True Love were playing, over and over. He heard songs all the time, but not like this. The notes were so clear and he could see patterns in them. Like a puzzle he knew he could solve. If he pondered on it, he could build a song with those pieces. He was sure of it.
He wished he could blow off the interview and go home with Clem. Hold her in his arms and tell her about his ideas. Or, even better, hold her in his arms and maneuver her out of her clothes.
Touching her body was as close as he’d ever get to God. Bill was pretty sure of that. He wanted to see more. Do more. Feel more. Tear that fucking bra off, so he could bury his head between her pillowy breasts, and slide into her tight, tight body. It was his wedding day! Was sleeping with his wife really so much to ask?
But he couldn’t do that. Not yet, anyway.
First, he had to find a job. Bill wasn’t gonna make the same mistakes as his pa. Nope. Unlike Hop Kassidy, Bill was gonna get steady, reliable work, so his mate felt secure and unstressed. So, she knew he’d always take care of her. So she’d never be tempted to leave him for a drunken lumberjack.
…Or her True Love.
That guy was the real threat. Bill hated the idea of that fated asshole lurking out there, searching for an opening. He was never going to give some bastard True Love a chance to unsteal Clementine. Making music was a far distant second to keeping his wife. He glanced down at her, smiling as warmth filled his chest.
Clementine and Bill, for all of ever-after.
Clem’s nuptially-induced trauma had dissipated as the afternoon went on. She was just about back to being adorably assertive. “We’ve got to slow down, Bill.”
He obligingly shortened his strides, worried he was exhausting her. “Are you tired? Why don’t I hire us a buckboard taxi to…?”
“No, silly.” She interrupted with a roll of her big, green eyes. “I mean we’ve got to slow down our relationship. Take some time.”
“Of course. We’ll take as much time as you need.” Bill had all the patience in the world, now that he had most of what he wanted. He’d never hurry his virginal mate along, before she was ready for more. He’d go slow and easy. Give her lots of space. Make her feel real comfortable.
But she’d be sleeping in his bed, from now on.
Having Clem cuddled beside him all night had been damn near paradise. She’d fit right up against his body, just like she belonged there. He never slept so deep or woke up so content. Not having her with him would be awful and he needed…
His thoughts skidded to a halt.
No, he didn’t need her sleeping in his bed. Of course that wasn’t what he meant.
His growing-up years had shown him the folly of needing anything. He just liked Clem cuddled up beside him. “Like” wasn’t the same as “need.” He liked her in his bed. And wanted it. And was keeping it. That was all.
Feeling suddenly uncomfortable, he rolled his shoulders and focused on reaching the racetrack. It wasn’t far. He’d make it to the interview. Good. Great. See? Everything was still fine and dandy.
“We’ll take all the time you need.” Clementine corrected. “Artists often struggle to process changes and I think it will especially impact you . Things you’ve been ignoring or suppressing might resurface, if you feel like your life is out of your control.” She sent him a knowing look. “You don’t like being out of control, Bill. This situation will bring up all kinds of feelings for you.”
Bill instantly denied that idea, perhaps with a touch more force than necessary. “No, it won’t.”
Clem sighed. “You think that I don’t understand artists…”
“I’m sure you understand them just fine, but I’m not one.”
“You are an artist.” She sounded very sure. “You just like to pretend that you’re not. Chaotic, whimsical things inspire you, but they also feel unpredictable. Anything unpredictable worries you, because you can’t be sure you can really have it. And you’d rather not want anything that you can’t have.”
Bill frowned down at his whimsical, chaotic, very unpredictable new bride.
She patted his arm. “Don’t worry. We’ll get through this. Just try and be open to your emotions, okay?”
“I’m always open to my emotions.”
Clem looked skeptical.
Bill tried again. “Darlin’, you did not pressure me to do anything I didn’t want to do. I was the one who maneuvered you into the wedding, if you wanna know the truth.”
Clementine literally laughed.
“I did!” He insisted. Clem proposing might’ve been an accident, but Bill getting them married sure wasn’t. “Now, if you’re having second thoughts about me, I understand. But…”
“I’m not having second thoughts about you.” She interrupted incredulously. “I just think we should try dating.”
He didn’t love that idea. At all. This whole conversation made him antsy and he blamed Tony for getting her het up, in the first place. That fucking beaver was gonna pay. “Why would I want to date my own wife?”
“So you can acclimate to marriage.”
“Seems like you’re the one struggling with ‘acclimation.’ You’re all het up.”
“I’m not het up. Stop saying that. I just know that I pressured you into the wedding, so I want to give you some…”
“Bullshit.” He rarely directed that kind of language Clem’s way and the novelty of it had her stopping short. “No one pressures me to do anything I don’t wanna do. I like being married to you and that’s not gonna change.”
She blinked up at him. “Well, I like being married to you, too.”
“What’s the problem, then? You and me are headed in the same direction, right? We’re already roommates. We’re best, best friends. And we’re attracted to each other.” That last part must’ve come out more like a question than he’d intended, because Clem answered him.
“Oh, I’m very attracted to you.” She assured him guilelessly. “I always have been.”
That got him smiling again. “Have ya?”
“Yes.” Her nose wrinkled up in an expression of self-deprecation. “Even when we were supposed to be platonic, I was admiring how your backside looks in jeans. I’m sorry for objectifying you.”
“Darlin’, we were never supposed to be platonic.” He slipped an arm around her waist, just because he could. “And I can’t begin to count the times I found myself staring at your lovely posterior, so this is yet another commonality we share. Seems to me we have all the makings of an ideal marriage.”
Clementine wasn’t convinced. “We should go on a date.” She repeated firmly. “Anywhere but The Birdcage. After my disastrous Tyler Tompkins dinner, I’m done with that restaurant forever. Have you ever tried to catch a toucan and then grill it on a stick?”
“Can’t say that I have.”
“Well, it’s not very appetizing. We can do better.” She gave a decisive sort of nod. “Ideal marriages take thought and effort. I want you to have that. I want you to be sure.”
Fuck.
Bill was sure. He had been sure for ten months. Clem wasn’t all-in on having him for a husband, though. That was the only explanation for her hesitance. He had to convince her that he could do the job.
Fortunately, Bill was real good on employee interviews. He almost always got hired, once he figured out what his prospective boss wanted. Clem wanted a date, so… “Alright. Let’s go on a date. Someplace fun.”
She brightened.“Really?”
“’Course. Whatever makes you happy, darlin’.” He gestured towards the front of the racetrack. “We can start right now, in fact. You ever been to the races?” Bill led her through the arched entrance. It was made of antlers and horseshoes. “Real popular place for first dates.”
“Well, that’s lucky.”
“Innit just?”
Bill would spirit her off on a date to the goddamn Fae Islands, if that’s what it took. But Camptown Racetrack was the best he could do, for the moment. He had to start calming her nerves as quickly as possible. She was not going to slip away, now that he had a real grip on her.
They joined the throng of hardcore gamblers, down-on-their-luck cowboys, and people just out to waste an afternoon.
Clementine didn’t seem disappointed to be spending her wedding day at a seedy gambling spot. The woman was a marvel. She looked up and down the bustling thoroughfare that connected the public areas to the stables. To the left, were the betting booths and grandstands. To the right, were the horse stalls, where the jockeys and steeds waited for their chance at glory.
“It’s so big!”
“Five miles long. And the races go all night and all day.” Bill headed to the right, his hand tightening on Clem’s waist. It made him uncomfortable to have so many strangers near his va-va-voom vixen of a wife. Any of them could try and steal her away. Bill surely would, if he was them.
Clementine continued scanning around with deep interest. The racetrack was surprisingly cool, thanks to retractable awnings on the tall walls surrounding the property. Their shade, plus the dash of frozen magic that management used to chill the track’s air, meant the sun could be hot and you still might freeze to death.
Clem looked fresh and clean and thrilled to be in the midst of so much disrepute. It never even occurred to her that the world was a dangerous place. To his bride, everything was an adventure. It simultaneously frightened him and made his heart melt.
Not that coyotes had hearts.
“Are those bears having a picnic over there?” She asked, pointing across the empty track.
Bill glanced towards the backstretch, where there seemed to be a raucous party brewing. Lots of bear-shifters were gadding about, playing and shouting without any cares. To look at them, you’d never know they were in charge of track security.
Coyotes and bears never did get along too well. To be fair, coyotes didn’t get along too well with anyone, even other coyotes. But these particular bears particularly annoyed the shit out of Bill. The grizzly-shifters were notorious around Red River Valley for being loud, aggressive idiots, particularly around women.
That just wasn’t gonna work for Bill.
“Those fellas are doin’ something over there. I doubt it qualifies as a ‘picnic’ though, unless they’ve taken to carrying their whiskey bottles in baskets.” He sent her a meaningful look. “Stay away from them, okay?”
“Of course. I don’t care for whiskey.” She watched a man with a battered, caved-in fedora go by. “I do like hats, though. Everyone here is wearing one. Even the bears have those trapper hats on. Maybe I should get one. They’re very fashionable.”
“Wool’s usually a mistake for desert-wear, if you want my opinion. But you’d look like an angel, even in fuzzy earflaps. Gazing at you is always more inspiring than two rainbows at sunset.”
She glanced up at him, her cheeks flushing pink. “Is that a real cowboy saying or did you just make it up?”
“It becomes a real cowboy saying, as soon as I say it. Privilege of being a real cowboy.”
That made her laugh.
Why, dating his wife was fun!
“I think I’ll pass on the trapper hat fad.” Something seemed to suddenly occur to her. “Hey, do you remember Big Hat Malloy? He asked me out a few times in the spring?”
“Rings a bell.”
“He had a very big hat.” Clementine frowned slightly. “I wonder what happened to Mr. Malloy. I haven’t seen him in ages.”
Bill thought it best not to speculate about the human deliveryman, who’d liked to leer at Clem right in fucking front of him. …He did know for a fact that armadillos went rabid, though. Just an unconnected bit of trivia he’d picked up in his travels.
Clem shrugged aside Big Hat Malloy’s unknown (armadillo-infested) fate. “Nobody wears a hat with your sense of style, Bill. You always look wonderful.”
“Thank you, ma’am.” Bill tipped his brim at her, having a fine time. “Now, I have to go to this side of the track, which is where the employees work. I’ll make sure you’ve got a safe place, real close by, to wait for me. Away from all the bears.”
“They do seem to be very boisterous, don’t they? Maybe they’re having a bachelor party. Have you considered having a bachelor party? I wouldn’t mind, if you wanted one.” She paused. “But no strippers.”
He appreciated her possessive tone. “I don’t want strippers. The girl I like looking at best is already living in my apartment.”
She grinned. “You are turning into a flirt, I think.”
“Dating you will do that to a man. You feel free to flirt back, any ol’ time.” He steered her down the path, towards the starting gate. “I’ll be back from the interview, as quick as I can. You can stand right by the fence, in a place called the apron. It’s closer to me and my coyote will hear you if you shout.” The animal was tuned to her voice like a radio that only got one station.
“Oh, seeing the horses so close will be fun.”
Clem was always optimistic and joyful. She could have fun anyplace. He really did adore that about her. …It also worried him.
“A lot of degenerate types stand in the apron.” Bill warned, still not entirely happy with the plan. The crowds would be less dense, but the people in that smaller crowd might be more trouble.
“I’m used to degenerate types. I work in the music business.”
“Well, I’d just as soon you keep your guard up. Camp Town is a little different than most tracks, because the horses promenade a bit before the race. They call it a ‘light fantastic’. It lets the real gamblers check the horses out for strengths and weaknesses prior to betting.”
“Doesn’t the racetrack worry about someone cheating?”
“They’ve got protection against magical tampering. And the bears kick out anyone who swindles the old-fashion way.” He lifted a shoulder. “Besides, I doubt the light fantastic helps anyone’s odds much. It’s just a show for the regulars. These racetrack folks are superstitious and looking for an edge, so they congregate on the apron. Special runners take their bets up to the windows.”
“I’m not much of a bettor. I won’t lose our grocery money.” She wrinkled her nose. “Um, I actually don’t have any grocery money, right now. I spent my share on pizza for Luke.”
Bill nodded, not surprised. He liked it when she said “our” and “we” and “us”, though. It made it seem like they were a team. Which they were . She was the sweet, special, and kindhearted part of the team. His part was to protect her from all the evil fuckers who’d take advantage of her sweet, special, kind heart. They were both playing to their strengths.
“Don’t worry.” She rushed to say. “I can make food budgets stretch, by fixing inexpensive meals. I do it all the time. I like to cook. I make a wonderful chicken and dumplings.”
“We can afford to eat.” Bill assured her. “And you can bet on the horses, if you want. I’m not concerned about that. It’s the people around here that are preying on my mind. Gamblers aren’t trustworthy.”
“You’re being paranoid.”
“I just don’t want anything to happen to you. Some of these degenerates are criminals. Don’t be quite as friendly as you usually are, alright? Keep a low profile. No talking to strangers.”
“No strangers.” Clem made an exaggerated X over her heart, like she was humoring him. “I promise.”